Willow Epernay Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bordeaux

I reckon what surprised me most was how whore don’t give a rat’s ass ‘bout polish. It’s messy, rough—like Yubaba’s cackle, all jagged edges. And I love it! Reminds me o’ that line, “Somethin’ you wouldn’t recognize—it’s called love.” Whore’s got heart, y’all, even if it’s glitchy as hell. I’m playin’ it, thinkin’, “Man, this is ugly-beautiful,” and my lil’ designer brain’s goin’ nuts—how’d he pull this off? Prolly cried a river when it shipped, too. I’d’a hugged him, but I’d spill my sweet tea.

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I am the first to admit that I am a bit of a champagne whore. OK, “whore” might be a bit strong, but it can't be that far off.

Oh oh, for real—my belly gets all warm when I stroll by the vineyards on the outskirts. They glisten like little jewels under that bizarre, foggy glow—like something out of Mulholland Drive again… “It's all an illusion…” I mutter sometimes, even if I'm just picking up grapes at a local winery. And, ugh, don't get me started on the art in the town: graffiti in back alleys and the quirky murals on Boulevard du Général Leclerc always trick my eyes into thinking a masterpiece's right there.

Illusione’s New Epernay Packaging Heads to Stores